way down we go
by merrrcurius
Summary: Cold brown eyes finally gaze up at me, staring straight through my soul. It sends a chill down my spine, but this excites me because I've found something better than my own petty revenge. I've found a monster. - Mafia AU. Mobward.
1. prologue

i wrote this story several years ago on FF and then took it down because i wasn't happy with it.

now, i've got an itch... so, here we go.

the story title is a song. if you know it, you're super cool in my book.

also, forewarning: as with all of my writings, any song listed usually holds great meaning to the story & while i understand some don't enjoy listening to music during,

it may sway you just right to listen beforehand. to get a feel of the mood i'm going for.

* * *

 **Prologue**

* * *

 _Shit. All I_ _can smell is_ shit _._

 _Suspicious white and red stains and random trash cover the carpets of every hallway we've come through. Several doors are missing from their respective rooms. The sound of sex and the random groans make my ears feel like they're bleeding. Ninety percent of the girls here are non-consenting or drugged out of their mind, I guarantee it._

" _Antonio, let's find her already and get the fuck out. I can't stand this shit anymore." My blonde partner grits out, trying to avoid looking into any of the rooms with missing doors. The sight is too much. I hate that he had to be here and see this. If I didn't need his help, I would_ not _have fucking asked._

" _Chill out Carlisle, we can't afford to make a scene. Back-up is still thirty minutes away."_

 _I can literally hear the man trying to relax from the corner of my eye. This was affecting my friend more than I thought it would. I shouldn't have asked him. I didn't take into account the two little one's he already has. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad if we could just kill all of these sick bastards. These men don't deserve to walk the Earth. They don't even deserve the fires of Hell._

 _They deserve a much worse fate than that._

" _Here." I whisper, coming to stand in front of room A7, one of the few rooms with a door. The woman who tipped us off would be spared, at least. We try to prepare ourselves for what we might see, but we both know it will be bad, either way. This needed to be quick, in and out. I just hope the girl won't scream or put up a fight._

" _Ready?" I ask quietly , jiggling the hostlers in my sleeves for a knife to slide into my palm._

 _Carlisle nods and proceeds to kick the door in. It doesn't take much considering how old and crappy the doors are. You'd figure with all the money these sick fucks make off this trade, they'd have the decency to upgrade every once in awhile._

 _All hell breaks loose as two men jump up from their positions on the bed, butt-ass naked. The few seconds of shock I have are enough to last me a lifetime of nightmares. It's worse than we could have imagined and we're already pretty fucking deranged as it is. The little girl's face and hair is matted in blood from their recent beatdown. The rest of her looks as if she hasn't bathed in weeks. Red, purple, and green marks cover her small body, bruises that never seem to heal._

 _I swore then and there, I would hunt down every man and woman involved with this shit and feed their chopped pieces to my pits. Hopefully, it wouldn't morph their cells too much. Killing them in front of Isabella will be the first step to her recovery. She'll appreciate the avenger in us later down the road. I know she will._

 _These dumbasses are just as shocked as we are, but suddenly they seem to come alive, screaming shit in their native language. Alerting the few guards here is unacceptable and a knife soon finds its way through both of their skulls. Their knees hit the ground first before anything else._

 _I hold my hand up, signalling to Carlisle to stop and listen for anyone rushing down the hall. Silence reigns, but not true silence. Just the sounds we were greeted with in the beginning. Those tortured cries… Fuck, praise Mary for their souls. Those few stifling breaths filled with the stench of this disgusting place would later feel as if I couldn't scrub it from my skin. The paranoia would last for days._

 _Nothing seems out of the ordinary so I nod. Carlisle hurries to the chain that's bolted to the wall above the headboard. They had this girl on a goddamn collar and leash, like a fucking dog._

 _I spit on the poor excuses for men that lay dead on the floor as I yank the knives from their lifeless heads. That death was too quick, too painless. Especially for some sick fucks like that. It's unbelievable how God allows such evil to live. I mean, I'm an evil motherfucker, but that..._

" _Антонио! помоги мне, черт возьми!" I'm not Russian, but it doesn't take a genius to understand my partner is trying to get my attention. Carlisle reverting to his native tongue alerts me to his level of distress and a strange knot forms in my throat. His hands are shaking so hard he can't pick the lock. Mine probably are too._

 _As I jog forward, I can't help but notice how calm the little girl is. Her eyes are almost dead-like as she stares at the men on the floor. Her tiny body is frozen to the bed, hands gripping the chain that bound her to the wall for God knows how long. I kneel hesitantly , getting as close as I think I can get without her being uncomfortable. Upon closer inspection, I notice the one thing that still exists is the anger and hatred in her eyes as she takes in this new reality. It pains me to see that murderous look in a child so young, but these feelings will help. They will become a necessity in my plans for this girl._

" _Isabella," I say softly , trying to get her attention. It seems as if she barely registered us trying to release her, gaze so intent on those men. Cold brown eyes finally look up at me, staring straight through my soul. It sends a chill down my spine, but this excites me because I've found something better than my own petty revenge._

 _I've found a monster._

* * *

 **"Антонио! помоги мне, черт возьми!" = "Antonio! Help me, god dammit!"**


	2. my name is human - highly suspect

_Three years later under a chicken factory..._

 **[[[:]]]**

Thick, red liquid oozes over my fingers where they grip the neck of a man jerking far too much for me to enjoy my birthday present. Partnered with terrified screams that pray for his God, the hysteria surrounding me fills my ears with white noise, lighting my skin with sharp prickles. Similar to the reaction I had when Mrs. Cullen tried to gift me a choker for my fifteenth birthday. Rosalie claims it's fashionable at the moment, trendy - I think otherwise. The sensation of cool wire wrapped around my throat has yet to fade a week later. Even now, I can feel it threatening to strangle me.

My body trembles, but from what, I won't tell. I can't. Even if I was scared, I'd never, _ever_ admit that to myself. There's absolutely no room in my life to be consumed by fear.

My hand slips through the mess again because I'm too fucking small to get a good grip, so I sit back on his thighs and try to breathe. I rake my hair back with a frustrated exhale, attempting to ground myself with the sickening smell of blood, with the pain in my knees from kneeling over his lap. I center my thoughts around the glorious image, however disturbing, of the man tied up and seated beneath me. Bloody fingers smooth out a wrinkle in his silky blue button up and the dark stain I spread looks like cancer. His head lolls, somehow still alive despite having a ridiculous chunk missing from his throat. It's actually kind of hilarious - the way it looks - and a bubbling giggle nearly resembling a sob pushes up my throat.

Bloodshot eyes roll around until they blink rapidly and focus on my face. Tears are streaking down his olive cheeks, dark orbs begging me to stop. The fear is palpable, _laughable_ and his helplessness reigns in my growing panic.

I comb my fingers through his sweaty curls, pushing them back to see him clearly. Italian-bred, but not pure blood with navy blues like that. Kneeling over another disgusting man like this has my skin itching, the haze of a past life poking at the side of my consciousness. I shake my head and the man tries to shake back, to remove my hands. I refuse to let the memories come and as I stare up at him, a glass film slides over me, smothering my insides. Suddenly, I feel calm. I am numb. I feel nothing. The muffled whimpers finally reach my ears through the static that had consumed my senses.

Sitting back on my haunches, I wet my lips and make a face at him. The tangy flavor of iron, the taste of a metal fork when eating pie straight from the tin, floods my mouth. Huh. Blood somehow reached my face, but none of his veins have sprayed in the way the movies do. That's kind of disappointing actually. My fist flexes around my knife and the pull of drying blood gains my attention. I stare down at the dark stains. _Oh_.

Cool fingers burrow in my brown curls, brushing along my scalp and down in a soothing motion. This is Antonio checking on me. No one else would dare touch me like this. My throat tightens and I worry of what he thinks. That I've failed? That when push comes to shove, I can't stomach what I asked for? He was so excited to give me this experience.

 _"Tesoro, I have a surprise for you. Per il mio piccolo guerriero."_

Remembering that warm smile shining down on me, the likes of a God, as he passed me the prettiest blade I've ever laid eyes on comforts me. I look down at the gift with a growing smile. The handle carved out of white pearl, jagged blade cut from onyx. The perfect combination of Heaven and Earth, the life force of a soul. It wasn't the kind of sleek silver, neat and Marine Grade, cut to perfection like you'd find from any ole store on the block. The appearance was rough and missing slivers from the organic material cut manually, shiny and smooth in all the right places.

Much better than a necklace.

His gift cements my position. This task, although something I've begged and fought and trained for these past three years, is my initiation. To become his little warrior. His _piccolo guerriero_.

And I _am_ excited. I _asked_ for this.

Father will not be dishonored. He will not be disappointed.

Leaning forward, I grab the man's face and press my forehead to his, forcing him to look me in the eyes. His bulky body is trembling and I like the way it feels in my tiny hands. A mad smile cracks my face in half as I whisper, "Your God won't save you."

 _I will not disappoint myself._

With renewed vigor, I grit my teeth and grin through the forceful effort of sawing back and forth through his stupid neck. His screams join me. The jagged edges aren't meant for slicing through bone, but I'll make due since I started this. I'll work for my kill. I'm okay with that. The _bump bump bump_ sensation as the teeth slice over hardened calcium is slightly jarring, but this excites me, reminding me that I've never cut through a person before.

It reminds me of the power I wish I had had back then. Of what I'll have from now on. This will make me. I'll be worthy of Antonio, of myself and this life. And slowly, with every slice, I feel myself becoming whole once again.

I have half a mind to look back at Antonio, to see if he's smiling like I am, but I don't want to miss a second, not a fucking second, of the look in these pathetic eyes. I'll stare him dead until his spirit slips from his body, until I'm bathing in the blood of my own Resurrection.

With a fistful of hair, I snatch his head to the side and stand on the sides of the chair for a better position. Gripping my knife tightly, I yank my hands apart with everything I have. His head gives and the loss of connection sends me wobbling backwards. Antonio is there, wrapping an arm around me to steady my fall.

"Wow, _Isabella_ , look at you! _Guarda il mio piccolo guerriero_!" The praise rumbling through my back is a relief. Comforting in a way I would never expect because I've never received a hug from Antonio. "Carlisle owes you an apology, _tesoro_. Look at his face."

Standing straight on the chair once more, I barely give the russian a glance, too focused on the lifeless eyes of my kill, head swinging and slightly heavier than I expected. Blood has covered the front of my dress, seeping into my flats. I'm still heaving from exertion. Tearing a man's head from his body was more difficult than I thought it would be. No wonder Antonio looked at me the way he did when I mentioned my preferred method.

Tremors wrack my form as something deep inside my chest threatens to explode. Tears prick my eyes as I realize I'm one step closer to freedom. I've done it and it feels _good_. I've accomplished a first of many to come and it's one less shackle, another buckle snapping under the weight of torment and shame. I lift his head and release the emotion building in me with a tiny roar.

Now, he knows. He knows, as surely as he thought himself God of his Domain _then_ , that I am God _now_.

 **[[[:]]]**

 _ **per il mio piccolo guerriero =**_ **for my little warrior  
** _ **guarda il mio piccolo guerriero**_ **= look at my little warrior**


End file.
